Exodus (The Fall of Haven)

by Justin Kemppainen

  Splintering wood and agonizing pain fired into Kaylee's senses. The back braces of the platform cracked apart by her impact, sending the platform crashing to the ground. She gasped for air, writhing at intense pain between her shoulder blades. Her addled mind wondered if she'd hit some kind of spike, and visions of impalement danced in her mind.

  "Would you like to watch me kill her? Come closer, and I will." Words filtered through the red haze of her sight. Her hands clenched nothing; the knife she carried was gone.

  "You will not."

  Fragments poked through, and her hand grasped at her tortured back, terrified she'd find some hideous protrusion as evidence of crippling or fatal injury. She felt no warmth of blood or even a tear in her clothing. Realization and relief struck as her hand grabbed hold of a chain behind her. Though the blunt lashings of pain from her collision with the chains on the board remained no less agonized, she at least knew she wasn't going to die.

  Yet, a sinister thought whispered.

  The tense conversation appeared to have continued during her period of distraction, and Kaylee almost felt like laughing while the two debated her life and death. Nigel knelt over her, head turned away and eyes locked with Sergei's. Kaylee's own knife hovered near her throat, held in Nigel's hand.

  "I can cut her throat before you take another step." Kaylee blinked, wondering if she detected the slightest bit of nerves or hesitation in Nigel's voice. Maybe it just quivers with how much crazy he has packed away.

  Sergei gave a short laugh. "I doubt she would make it so easy on you. The girl is stubborn, but if you manage to dispatch her in such a fashion," Kaylee saw his face darken, "I promise I will make your own end not so quick or merciful."

  "A bold claim, so come then! Let us see-"

  Opportunity presented itself with Nigel's attention toward Sergei. Kaylee grabbed the man's wrist and twisted her lower half upward. Ignoring the protesting from her back, she scissored her legs around Nigel's neck and wrenched downward. Pivoting around, she twisted Nigel's arm behind his back and shoved his face into the fragments of the wooden board.

  "Should've listened to Sergei." She tried to mix ferocity with mocking in her tone, but her voice only came across strained.

  Nigel let out a high-pitched laugh. "Oh, I don't know-"

  Annoyed at his flippant attitude, she interrupted him with a crank on his arm. "I'm sorry; can you speak up a bit?"

  He gave a tiny grunt of pain, nowhere near where the level she'd have wanted. She pulled harder but elicited nothing save further laughter. Frustrated, she twisted more.

  "You are likely to pull it from the socket soon, if you keep that up." Sergei stepped over.

  "So?" The edges of her nerves grated at the now-constant soft laughter of her captive.

  "He does not appear to mind the pain you cause, so it is unlikely to produce any favorable results."

  Grabbing a fistful of Nigel's tangled, filthy hair, she slammed his forehead into the ground. For a split second of blissful silence, he ceased the laughing, but it immediately started up again.

  "Augh!" she slammed his head again, this time to no effect.

  "You see?" Sergei asked.

  She shot him a glare. "Maybe it makes me feel better."

  He cracked a slight smile. "Does it?"

  Kaylee clenched her teeth, the tittering of her captive increasing in volume. "Shut up!" she shouted, again to no reaction.

  Scowling, she planted a knee in his back and pressed her weight down. Nigel let out a groan and weakly tried to keep laughing, but without much breath, it came out labored. "What should we do now? Should we hold him hostage; see if we can get his people to back down?"

  At her statement, even lacking breath, Nigel's cackling came with renewed vigor. "Yes… yes, please do. I'd very much," he gasped, "very much like to see that."

  Kaylee cast Sergei a worried look. The man shrugged. "Such an action may not be wise."

  "Then what the heck else are we supposed to do?"

  Sergei pointed. "He may know of another way out."

  "How about it? Any other ways out of here?" Kaylee took off a small amount of pressure.

  "Your flesh shall fail! Your souls will be cleansed in the Light! Your blood will-"

  "Yeah, enough of that…" Kaylee pressed her weight down again, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

  Nigel wheezed, still trying to speak. "Your… blood… will… nourish… our…"

  She raised an eyebrow at Sergei, talking over the strained ramble. "Thoughts?"

  "We may have to search for our own method of escape, in which case-"

  "There is no escape!" Nigel's voice squeezed out in a coughing rasp. "You will all die! Your heart's blood shall fill us with true power! Your-"

  In a swift motion, Kaylee lifted her weight and spun Nigel over. With the formerly twisted arm pinned behind his back, she held down the other and pressed her knee into his throat, bringing blessed silence to the room at last. Nothing but a harsh gurgle escaped from the prisoner, whose eyes bulged.

  "We gonna tie up this crazy bastard, then?" Kaylee asked, satisfied at Nigel's obvious discomfort.

  Sergei gave a slight cough. "Do not be foolish, Kaylee. There is no safe means by which we can allow this monster to continue living."

  A small measure of surprise struck into Kaylee, its sudden presence as baffling as the feeling itself. She opened and closed her mouth, looking down into the graying face of Nigel. What the hell is wrong with me? she wondered. Didn't I come down here expecting I'd have to kill him?

  Her initial shock became buried behind a flood of confusion and shame. It's not like I haven't killed anyone before, and this guy is the worst of the lot. He's even crazier, even worse than…

  "Miguel…" she whispered, eyes wide and locked with Nigel's. Glittering awareness formed in them at the mention of his former torturer, in spite of the near-unconsciousness from lack of oxygen.

  "It is a necessary act, and I will do it if you cannot." Sergei knelt, bringing his knife towards the captive.

  Frozen, Kaylee didn't move. Gods… I actually feel bad for him. I pity this horrid, people-eating, blood-drinking, murderous monster. He'd kill me without blinking… what the heck is wrong with me?

  "No…" she whispered, shaking her head. "I'll do it. I have to."

  Sergei cocked his head. "Are you certain?"

  "Yes. Hold him."

  Carefully, Sergei braced his weight over Nigel's body. Kaylee took the knife from him, her own cast to somewhere unseen, and swiveled around. She lifted her knee from his neck and leaned down.

  "You have not won, vile witch," Nigel spoke in a clear voice, sounding as though he hadn't just been on the verge of strangulation.

  Kaylee raised the knife. "I'm sorry about what was done to you."

  Nigel grinned. "I'm not."

  ******

  Focus, move forward. Think, watch, act. Oh God, she can't be dead.

  Even with the recent change to hand-to-hand from sparse use of ammunition, Rick's mind chugged away at the constant analysis, over and over. His nerves, his body, formerly on the edge of exhaustion, became frayed beyond anything he thought he could endure.

  His mind did not dare consider too long the question of why. Rick cast it aside, locking away any thought of sorrow or grief. He knew, he knew very well giving it the slightest purchase would open the flood gates, potentially in a literal sense.

  Long knife. Slash to major blood vessels for quick incapacitation. Cut wrist tendons to eliminate grip on weapon. Numerous more scenarios and individuals fell to his abilities, and in spite of the mortal danger all around, he continued to observe.

  Isaac's people displayed decent skill and training, instantly slinging or holstering weapons when instructed to revert to melee combat. In spite of his earlier chastising of Isaac and Sergei's general tactics and planning, how the soldiers handled themselves impressed him.

  They carved a violent path, back the way they came through the interior of Heavenl
y Bodies. Dozens of assailants, in their typical behavior, charged and fell. Even tense moments of larger groups and intense fighting saw little damage done to Isaac's remaining men.

  "Strength in numbers and surprise," he whispered to himself, breaking out of his own mind. "That's why they beat us before. Numbers and surprise. Fearlessness, too. Superior weaponry can't always compete when enemy combatants aren't afraid of pain or death."

  A couple of Isaac's people sent confused looks his way, but Rick paid them no notice.

  Save the ammo… he let his mind fall back into the series of strategic summaries. He couldn't remember if he had suggested it to Isaac or if the leader had come up with it on his own.

  It didn't matter that these and similar thoughts had already occurred. His mind went over them again. She's dead, oh God, she's dead… He squeezed his eyes shut and shoved the thought away.

  Focus, move forward. Think, watch, act. Save the ammo for once we leave. Save it for open quarters, save it for when we have to run. Long knife. Slash to vital areas for rapid incapacitation. Wrist tendons, arteries, fatal stab if opening.

  Numbers and surprise… he thought, a tear sliding down his cheek.

  Numbers and surprise… need to save ammo in case they still have any of either.

  ******

  "Piotr, help me to hold his shoulders. We want to make this quick."

  Kaylee gasped as Sergei shifted to the left, allowing the imaginary friend room to help. "No, Sergei-" she started, lunging forward.

  Nigel's face twisted in a snarl, and his body heaved. Eyes wide with surprise, Sergei toppled backwards. Before Kaylee could plunge the knife into Nigel's neck, his fist smashed into the side of her head.

  Her vision burst into a red haze, and she rolled with the momentum. Clenching her grip on the knife, she tried to carry through to her feet but only managed to come up on one knee.

  She turned in time to see Nigel sink the knife, the one she'd lost during her initial charge, into Sergei's chest. Horror flooded through Kaylee, and she didn't move.

  Sergei fell to the ground, his face contorted in a grimace. His hand went to his chest, and an angry, distant gaze fell upon his attacker.

  Nigel crawled forward, kneeling above the wounded man, who did not struggle or resist. He bowed and muttered something Kaylee couldn't hear. Nigel seemed to be forgetting or ignoring her presence.

  The light in Sergei's eyes, the anger, pain, and fire, faded away. No final words or convulsion of body to speak of; the man died without a murmur or apparent struggle. The killer knelt over him, eyes glittering and overjoyed in the simple, terrible act. He folded and unfolded his hands, bowing and muttering over Sergei's fatal wound.

  Oh Sergei... why the crazy now? We had him... Kaylee drew in a breath, teeth clenched and fist curled around the knife Sergei had given her.

  Pausing in his incantation, Nigel turned toward Kaylee. A wicked smile spread across his face. "Do you see it now? Do you see?" He motioned toward the hilt protruding out of Sergei's chest. He smiled at Kaylee, offering forth his bloody hands.

  Rage flared into Kaylee's mind, anger and disgust beyond anything she could ever conceive. A chilling scream tore loose from her throat, and she charged, the blade flashing before her.

  ******

  The sound of a few scattered shots ringing out spurred Gottfried and his force to hurry. No method existed for him to know the general situation Rick and his allies had gotten themselves into, but the knowledge of deadly force made haste appropriate.

  Malcolm seemed to err on the side of prudence; when the first shot rang out, the strange creature perked up and took off at an impressive clip. Before anyone could call out or ask what or why, Malcolm drew out of sight.

  The creature had caught a scent early on and subsequently guided the Inquisitors toward the unknown. With him running off, Gottfried might've been unhappy to be left without direction if not for the obvious sounds of gunfire.

  The High Inquisitor decided after a short moment that he agreed with his former, now freakish, colleague in haste being appropriate. Besides, he thought, he very well may put our foes on alert to new advance. We cannot give them any extra time to prepare.

  Much of the situation provided discomfort. Gottfried felt more pride in analysis and smaller studies of human behavior. Even before, when the previous High Inquisitor had him in the role of surface coordinator for the campaigns below, he had experienced a strong distaste for the work.

  A policing force, he closed his eyes as they jogged along in near-silence. This is what the Inquisition always should have been.

  Yet they always served as military or mercenary in a pinch. Unfortunately, the reserve army, wiped out in the days just before the uprising, had been lax and inexperienced. Underestimation of the Old Havenites and general stupidity created the reason for a large portion of the Citizenship downfall, and the reserve forces did more than their part to contribute on that front.

  Still, he trusted the dedication and skill of his people. Cool-tempered and level-headed with a strong measure of weapons training and combat experience, each one also held an even greater aspect, one of steadfast loyalty.

  The silent brigade of black-clad Inquisitors covered the remaining blocks without incident. No hint of enemy activity save for the chatter of gunfire. Something is still happening, he thought, but I fear we may arrive only in time to find the victors dealing with the remaining few. He didn't let his mind ponder too long the question of who and which side would be involved in such a clean-up.

  Approaching from the east, Gottfried felt a chill course through him, something about the street and a sudden, intense paranoia of foes surrounding them. The windows on all sides were in the common states of disrepair to outright shattered, but they were also dark and featured no movement. Ambush sites are too numerous, he thought, returning his attention forward.

  Their destination lay ahead, dark and foreboding. The intermittent gunshots had increased to full volley, a hail of fire and flashing light coming from the far end of the square.

  Grim determination set into his mind. Whoever they were, whoever they were fighting would be clear in a moment.

  Yet he felt something else. In spite of the impending combat and the immediate need to divine who was friend or foe in this darkness, his thoughts turned to where his force headed and what had happened there before.

  Deserved or not... the Citizen fall began here.

  ******

  Something appeared off about the amount of gunfire echoing all around. It nagged at Rick as he went through the motions of turning, aiming, firing. Everything is off… she's…

  Wayward, distracting thoughts of something which would annihilate his focus if given enough purchase resounded every so often. Squelched each time, Rick tried with mild success to keep up a careful analysis to distract his thoughts. Even the constant death flowing all around, the well-placed shots ending numerous ill-fated charges... nothing seemed to be enough.

  The numbers, the numbers seemed so terribly off. So do ours, from when so many of our comrades- He winced, yet the ease of the fight put him on edge more than anything else. They're pathetic now. They have too many, too many people. Why was it enough before but not now?

  The crazed individuals appeared to have lost their frenzied, coordinated edge. When Rick, Isaac, and the rest burst out of the lobby of Heavenly Bodies, the stragglers in the streets could hardly clamber over those already fallen to begin the attack anew.

  "They've lost their fire," he murmured. Maybe they're sluggish after feeding.

  This thought drove more revulsion into him than he thought possible. He cursed the wicked cruelty of his mind, gritting his teeth and coming far too close to vomiting, passing out, or any other number of activities he wouldn't wish under current circumstances.

  This bout of ill sensation continued for several seconds, until Rick noticed something which made him forget completely about Kaylee.

  Beyond the sweat stinging his eyes, the incon
stant bright of allied muzzle flashes, the faces of their falling and dying foes, Rick saw something. He blinked, sparing a moment of his sustained fire to wipe his eyes.

  Oh dear God…

  On the other side of the square, Rick finally noticed the source of the extra echoes. Muzzle flashes illuminated unknown figures. Ah shit, who is that now? Wild thoughts spun in his head, and sadly he could conceive of few individuals who wouldn't be happy enough to shoot him on sight. "Out of the frying pan," he said under his breath. His mind lit upon the hidden exit in the bowels of Heavenly Bodies.

  He signaled Isaac, pointed out the new arrivals, and jerked his thumb backwards. With a nod of affirmation, Issac sent the command down the line. What amounted to little more than a firing squad backed away, returning to the security of the building.

  Once the doors were again closed and barricaded, Rick turned to him, "Any ideas on who that might be?" Maybe she's alive and brought- He dug fingernails into his palm.

  "I hoped you could tell me." Isaac wore a frown.

  "Boy, you're just full of help today," Rick replied, continuing his pattern of insults on Isaac. "Could be friendly, but I'm not holding my breath."

  Isaac swore, glaring at Rick, but he didn't respond to the sarcasm. "You think they're Citizens?"

  "Could be. Bodies were turning up everywhere. I bet Davidson wasn't any happier about it than we were."

  Gritting his teeth, Isaac ejected the clip and checked its count. "Damn… I don't think-"

  "Not a chance, hot-shot." Rick cut in. "Morale, manpower, ammo. We're running low on all three. These guys are fresh, not exhausted, and probably still have most of the bullets they brought down. I say we let 'em finish our dirty work."